I don’t know how it happened, but it has. I’m no longer an underclasswoman. Somewhere, between Habitat for Humanity break trips, broken bones, adventures with friends, worry-free summers and pages upon pages of literature papers, I’m about to take on the title “senior.”

If you were near the Environmental Sciences and Technology building yesterday at about 10:07 a.m., there is a good chance that you heard a loud “thunk,” followed by lots of laughter. In fact, if you were near the entrance of the building, you may have seen the cause of the commotion: a woman had just walked smack into one of the window panels because she was looking at a shiny apple she was about to eat.

Before yesterday, if I had wanted to spark a discussion on discrimination I would have brought up one of three topics: race, religion or gender. In each of these conversations, I would have tried to maintain a non-racist, non-sexist and religious non-bigoted position.

Pull up a couch, folks, because it’s best that you are sitting when you read this. I might put you to sleep.

And chances are, even if I were to tell you that President Gary Ransdell is personally financing a petting zoo on the fourth floor of Downing university Center (which he isn’t, though perhaps more people would hang out there if he did), you’d still probably have no trouble taking a siesta.

Pull up a couch, folks, because it’s best that you are sitting when you read this. I might put you to sleep.

And chances are, even if I were to tell you that President Gary Ransdell is personally financing a petting zoo on the fourth floor of Downing university Center (which he isn’t, though perhaps more people would hang out there if he did), you’d still probably have no trouble taking a siesta.

I’ve got a hairy issue to address and I want to bring it up now before it gets too warm outside.

You see, when the sun comes out so do the shorts, which means I will have to start shaving on a semi-regular basis again. I’ll do it not because I enjoy it, but because I know I can’t handle the grimaces on others’ faces when they see my dark leg hair against my pasty winter skin.

In light of yesterday’s celebration of April Fool’s, I’d like to dedicate this column to all the foolish people on campus who believe that there is nothing to do here at Western. Normally I shy away from telling people that they’re wrong, but if you sincerely believe that there’s nothing to keep your bottom busy while you’re at school here, you’re sorely mistaken.

Let’s do a linguistic exercise. I’m going to write a word and I’d like for you to think about how it makes you feel. Here it is:

Feminism.

Now, let it mull in your mind for a bit. Meditate on it, perhaps go for a jog and come back to the next line when you’re ready.

Riddle: 100 people died in a cabin on the side of a mountain all facing the same direction. What happened?

On the first day of backpacking on the Ouachita National Scenic Trail in Arkansas during Spring Break, it took me about an hour to solve this.

And it wasn’t until five nights into the trip that I figured out that the bear jokes the ORAC folks had been making weren’t without motive.

With a week of backpacking in Arkansas soon approaching, my Spring Break worries aren’t typical for me. I’m not going to be stressed about how I look in a bathing suit, for one thing, because after hiking for six days I’ll be too busy dreaming of my next bath.